


A Time to Kill, and a Time to Heal

by acuteneurosis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Awkward family bonding, Bad Plans, Crash Landing, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heart Attacks, Luke why are you so okay with it?, Panic, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Risky Gamble, Skywalker Family Drama, Vader why are you like this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuteneurosis/pseuds/acuteneurosis
Summary: On a random planet, at a random time (but definitely post-ANH), Darth Vader finds himself confronting the truth, and nine and a half bounty hunters, all on behalf of Luke Skywalker. His not actually dead son.





	A Time to Kill, and a Time to Heal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylongsufferingroommate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylongsufferingroommate/gifts).

> I have no idea how this happened. I was just going to write for five minutes and then go to bed. I blame mylongsufferingroommate. You know what you did. You know.

Darth Vader dove back behind his ship, using it for cover as he tried to stabilize his breathing.

Which should not have been a problem. There should have been no problem at all with his breathing. He breathed in sync with a machine and had been doing it for _twenty years_ and some random upstart pilot from the middle of nowhere in the galaxy had no business to be stealing Vader’s breath away and giving him a possible literal _heart attack_.

He reserved those for memories of Padmé, and when he longed for a taste of death.

Now was _not _one of those times.

“Luke!” he shouted over the sounds of laser blasts viciously hitting the ground, timing the shout with an out breath so that he could actually manage the action. There was a spike in the Force, of fear and resentment and Vader hesitated at it.

But he would not leave his son.

“Luke!” he shouted again, shifting to peer around the ship’s wreckage without making himself too much of a target. He would need to retrieve his son in a moment, and he couldn’t be shot down in the process. Normally the Force would take care of that. But, _somehow_, years of training had all fled Vader’s brain at the moment he had realized he and the rebel were both under fire, and the rebel was _his not actually dead son_.

Luke’s X-wing was down a few dozen yards away and providing, for the moment, adequate cover. But his son -_his son!_\- kept glancing back at Vader, halting return fire and giving the weequay bounty hunters windows to inch closer. Vader wanted to shout at his child, _his child_, to keep firing and don’t stop until they’re all dead. But it would take too much time and odds were Luke wouldn’t listen anyway.

He hadn’t listened to anything Vader had said since throwing his name at the Sith Lord in a fit of fury, demanding how it was any different to die at the hand of bounty hunters than his father’s murderer.

“Luke!” Vader shouted for the third time, distracting his son _again, _and hating that their opponents were getting closer in that moment. “Here!”

The utterly baffled look was frustrating, but not more than Luke instinctively shying back when Vader tried to leave the cover of his ship to get closer. If Luke couldn’t follow that simple command, Vader would have to go to him, but it wouldn’t work if Luke was _running away_!

With a grunt and final check that his heart was not about to give out on him (he had maybe 30 seconds before it started rebelling, he thought, definitely not more), Vader ran.

It was not something he did often anymore. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had done it at all. But if Luke was going to start running away from Vader, then Vader needed to be as close to their enemies as possible so that he could prevent an… undesirable outcome.

Besides, the moment that he started moving towards them, the mercenaries tried to retreat.

Operative word being “tried.”

He had three of them down in the first ten seconds, but there were seven more, spread too far out for him to reach them all in time at the speed he was going. And when he went down, if he went down, who knew what would happen to Luke.

The durasteel and wiring resisted quicker movement and every single step, every swing of his arms, was pain like he was on fire again. His suit was _not_ designed to move this quickly. But he got three more before something suddenly jammed and he stumbled, managing to disarm, quite literally, a fourth as he crashed to the ground.

Which was when his heart decided to give out.

It wasn’t fair, he thought, as he desperately reached for the Force, trying to keep breathing long enough that he could grab his own disobedient organ and squeeze it back into a regular rhythm. It wasn’t fair that this was how he found out that he had a son. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t guarantee, with absolute certainty, that Luke was safe before Vader’s useless, crippled body had given out on him.

He only had one son. He’d only _ever_ have one son.

He had to defend him now.

“Ha,” one of the weequay had come up to Vader, sneering more than a little. “Looks like that be-u-tee-ful landing took a bit more out of him than he thought.”

If he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his own heart going, Vader definitely would have been choking the man. To the slowest, most painful death.

“We got th’other one,” someone shouted behind Vader, and the Sith lord tried to turn, to catch a glimpse of the grunting, swearing boy that had apparently, in spite of all of Vader’s hard work, just been captured.

There were only _four_ of them left. One of them didn’t even have an arm anymore. Luke should have been able to get away. Why-

“How’d you get him so quick?” Vader’s sneering captor demanded. “He took off just now.”

“Came back around when this one fell,” the weequay holding Luke snickered, shoving the boy so that he was kneeling.

Luke was staring mutinously at the ground, his jaw clenched. His eyes darted to Vader for a moment, somehow met his father’s gaze with perfect accuracy even with the mask obscuring line of sight. Then he looked quickly down again, jerking his shoulders in an effort that seemed more defiant than productive.

He felt… the boy felt guilt, Vader realized as his breathing resynchronized with his respirator, and with that clarity came a greater sense of the Force. His damn heart still hadn’t ticked back on quite yet though. It seemed willing to stutter about half as often as it needed to be steadily beating, but no more.

He could _not_ die like this. Besides being utterly and completely humiliating, Vader was not ready to die anymore.

He had a _son_.

_Luke…_

His gentle brush of the Force was probably mostly a success because he was too weak to accidentally push harder. It still startled to boy so badly that Luke jerked violently, and his captor whacked him across the back of the head.

Well, now that one would have to die a most painful death too.

Once Vader’s heart started properly working. The burst of pain from his son had thrown off Vader’s rhythm and nearly made him lose his breath again.

Damn it all.

“Why do you want _both_ of us?” Luke demanded suddenly, staring up at the weequay just over Vader. “We’re on opposite sides-“

“Business,” the weequay smiled, throwing his arms wide. “War is all about business, boy. There are people that want you, and people that want him, and we aren’t on anyone’s side. Just in it for the money. Besides, you have any idea what your ships are worth? Even as scraps? That Tie’s one of a kind, kid, one of a kind.”

“And you will _not_ have it,” Vader growled, grateful that the vocorder made the words more forceful than he had actually managed to get out. And he was worried about the ship. But not more than Luke. And making the weequay think that his largest concern was the ship meant it would be less likely they would use Luke against him.

All the weequay chuckled. Vader’s smirker said, “Pity you didn’t think to work with the kid. Maybe then we wouldn’t get it.” A smug pause. “Or not. We’re pretty good at our job.”

“Six of you are very dead,” Vader wheezed, and it was still strengthened, but not as much as he would like. His heart was now beating, but wanted to move in a rapid pattern that was completely uneven and not conducive to killing three and a half more people. “That doesn’t look like pretty good from down here.”

Another group chuckle. “That’s just good business,” Vader’s smirking weequay leaned down a bit, and Vader longed to have the concentration to choke the life right out of him. “Better cut when you only have to split it four ways.”

“Polit might even be able to get a new arm,” someone out of sight laughed. Polit did not seem quite as amused.

Vader was. Almost.

His heart had started evening out.

The weequay began to chatter in some language Vader only remembered in bits and pieces, clearly arguing about exactly how they were going to move forward now. Luke was still struggling, but not drawing on the Force, which he would need in order to completely shake off his captor.

Did he not know how?

_Luke_… Vader tried again, and his son jerked less this time, deliberately faced mostly away from Vader, but let his eyes drift back to unerringly meet his father’s masked gaze again.

What Vader projected next was less verbal instruction and more a feeling. Gathering strength from the Force to himself, which he would need in just a moment anyway, he invited Luke to share the sensation, and the focus.

Luke blinked a few times, frowning.

After a few more seconds where Luke managed only normal human struggles, Vader sent the feeling again, with an impression of _strength_ and _speed_ behind it.

Apparently, that worked a little better. The Force began to move around his son, but not flow through him the way that it needed to.

Luke, in fact, had no idea what he was doing.

He was making an excellent effort and having some minimal success. But Vader could see that his son knew he was not getting the results that Vader had projected to him.

And it was clearly making him angry.

Someone attempted to grab Vader, probably to drag him along. They were foiled not only by the immensely heavy armor, but by Vader’s hand moving faster than sight, clamping down on their throat.

“No,” he growled, quite simply. “I think not.”

There was a satisfying crunch, and then a less satisfying spark of disgust and horror from his son, follow by something that felt a bit like guilt and relief. Pleased with the results, but not the methods? Vader would have to ask later.

For now, “Seven,” Vader croaked. “Good business, right?”

The remaining two and a half weequay looked a lot less certain than they had a moment ago. Which was fine, because…

Vader rolled to his side, away from Luke. This meant one and a half weequay were lunging towards him with blasters, ignoring his son, while Vader dropped the corpse and called his saber with the Force, igniting it mid-flight and slicing both fools in front of him more or less in half.

By the time the blade hit his hand, Vader was standing, carefully balancing on one good leg, arm raised in a threatening pose, ready to drag the last weequay off his son.

There was no need.

Apparently Luke had used the distraction to throw his head back into his captor’s face. Vader could only guess that was why his son was wincing and the weequay was covering said face with both hands, yowling.

His son was too much in the way for Vader to make use of his saber, but that was alright. He grabbed the last mercenary in an invisible choke hold instead, carefully exerting more and more pressure as seconds slipped away and the man’s panic rose and swelled in spasmodic ripples.

Distantly, Vader thought he might have heard Luke say something, but this death was too important to be distracted now. And there was no danger, the Force would tell him-

A blaster shot went off and the weequay hung dead in the air, a hole in his head.

Vader blinked.

Looked to his son.

Saw the blaster trembling in those hands. Saw the eyes, flickering with rage.

“Why?” Luke demanded, throwing the blaster to the ground. “Why would you do that? It wasn’t necessary. It was cruel!”

The words stung. Stung in a soft place in his heart, not his literal one thank goodness, that had not been touched in years. In so long in fact, Vader had thought he had completely gotten rid of it.

Apparently he was wrong.

But not so wrong that he would be dissuaded so easily.

“He deserved it,” Vader said simply. “He was greedy and unwise and deserved to die that way.”

Something dangerous spiked around Luke in the Force, and Vader was already flinching before his son threw out the words, “So everyone who is greedy and takes something that isn’t theirs, for power or profit, they all deserve to die like that?”

The unspoken implication that Vader might deserve to die like that had the Sith hesitating.

“No,” Vader said slowly. “It is… not the same. In… every case.”

“Then _why_?” Luke demanded furiously, fists clenched and trembling.

There were plenty of options for answers. But apparently Vader’s brain was still working on getting fully oxygenated blood, because he opted for the honest answer of, “Because he hurt you.”

There was a powerful sense of confusion, followed immediately by a burning, flaming rage. “Don’t you _dare_,” Luke shouted, voice slightly choked, “use me as an excuse to _torture_ other people. Don’t you-“

He couldn’t finish, and simply shook his head, trembling all over. When Luke did manage to speak again, it was a tight, “I’m not your excuse. I’m your _enemy_.”

“You’re my son,” Vader said firmly, and damn his brain for not making better use of the perfectly good heart Vader had finally managed to get working. He had _not_ meant to say that.

Yet.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Wide eyes and absolute horror.

Then the blaster Luke had thrown to the ground flew to his hand, and Vader’s son was firing in quick succession, shouting something that may have been words, but probably was not.

Most likely.

It might have been very eloquent swearing.

Vader found it hard to tell. He was too busy deflecting blaster bolts.

Speed and skill were not the issue. Making sure he did not redirect the blasts at the shooter, which was the more normal action, because this time it was his _not actually dead but apparently trying really hard to get there son_, was much harder than Vader wanted to admit.

Maybe he was getting too old for this.

After about fifteen solid seconds of shooting, Luke apparently came enough to his senses to drop the blaster again. But he was still yelling.

“Liar!” featured prominently and frequently, next to “Murderer!” and occasionally, “Monster!”

There were any number of lines about, you killed my father, a whole lot of reference to Ben, who if he was not currently dead would be at the very top of Vader’s need to kill immediately list. Some things about betrayal maybe, and Luke’s father being Anakin Skywalker.

Which was nice to hear him say, because while the Force had confirmed the truth of their relationship immediately and unarguably, it was good to have secondary evidence to back it up.

There were also some lines about Tatooine, and somehow Kenobi kept managing to earn _more_ reasons to die in relation to stealing and hiding Vader’s son. Tatooine? He couldn’t have thought of a single better, safer place to hide the child than Tatooine?

The monster.

Luke’s tirade eventually quieted.

Not all of it had left Vader unscathed. There had been some strong suggestions that Vader had abandoned Luke, if he really was the boy’s father. Or that he hadn’t cared enough to find out that he had a son. There was suspiciously little in there about Luke’s mother, and Vader wondered what Obi-Wan had told the boy. Or if Padmé’s death had been too far outside the boundaries of the neat little story that his old master had created, and he had simply had to ignore it.

It wouldn’t have mattered to a Jedi. They didn’t think they really even had mothers.

For Luke, it would have been crucial. Children followed the mother’s line. With a name like Skywalker, he could have been in serious trouble on Tatooine if he couldn’t prove his heritage.

“Say something,” Luke eventually snapped, swaying slightly.

Behind his mask, Vader frowned in concern. Probing gently with the Force, he silently cursed himself as he strode forward, angry that he had missed the seriousness of his son’s condition.

They had just crashed, after all. Luke did not seem to be seriously hurt by that accident, but he’d tried to run away and back from their foes, while still adjusting to the planet’s atmosphere. He didn’t have a suit like Vader’s that kept oxygen levels regulated, that helped disperse some effects of varying gravity levels. Add to that the adrenalin rush that must now be ending, the hit to his head he had taken, followed by using the same head as a weapon… well, it was a wonder that his son was still standing.

“No,” Luke tried to shout, as Vader approached, scrambling back and swaying even more precariously. He was too tired and weak to make it more than a few steps before Vader had him, gripping him firmly but carefully by the arm and acting as a counterbalance to steady him.

“You need to sit,” Vader said firmly. “And you need provisions.”

The Sith examined both their ships frowning. His would have nothing of use for anyone not in a life support suit, but Luke’s craft…

A gentle probe with the Force found a storage compartment that seemed only half damaged. “Stay here,” he ordered, easing Luke to the ground. He felt his son’s irritation, but also a flash of relief.

The child was exhausted.

It took longer than Vader wanted to retrieve the supplies. Partly because Vader had to Force various pieces of broken ship out of the way, then levitate supplies over and examine them to make sure they were still safe to consume.

But he was also limping, and it frustrated him to no end.

The pain that was returning, building in his arms and legs and torso, was not helping either.

“Here,” he said, handing the supplies to his son, who was looking at him rather oddly. “This should at least help for now.”

He got the words out as he took a seat of his own, carefully timing his breaths to get the most out of his respirator on each inhale. He needed the Force to keep him steady now. The pain was becoming abnormally acute.

Luke was hesitating over the food, which did not, Vader had to admit, look very appetizing. But the boy’s attention was less on the package and more on Vader, and it both pleased and worried the Sith. “Are you… alright?”

Clearly his son knew the question was a poor one. His gazed traveled to Vader’s stiff, slightly crumpled leg, and drifted back up to his face, the boy’s breathing starting to synchronize with the respirator.

Not wanting to detail his current injuries, especially since he wasn’t entirely sure what all of them were, Vader said firmly, “My condition is adequate to handle the circumstances. I will have the prosthetic seen to when I return to my ship.”

There was a touch of surprise as Luke glanced again at the leg, then back to his father’s face, but it seemed like some of the worry had lessened.

Good. Yes. That was… good.

Except, “You are not eating,” Vader said pointedly.

His son continued to ignore the food. “Are you… are you really my father?’

If it would make him eat, “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Anakin Skywalker?”

“Once, yes.”

Luke grimaced at that, but continued. “Ben’s student?”

“Once, yes.”

“His friend?”

Fighting a sneer on that one and ignoring the memory of, “_You were my brother, Anakin,”_ Vader managed, “Once I thought so, yes.”

And that definitely threw the boy off. But after another moment, he persisted. “You’ve been alive, this whole time?”

Well, functionally, “Yes.”

“Serving the Emperor?”

Nominally, “Yes.”

“With the Dark Side?”

A rather odd way to put it -what had Kenobi been teaching the boy?- but, “Yes.”

Vader could see the “Why?” that longed to escape the boy’s mouth at that, and started sifting through possible answers that would end the conversation quickly enough that Luke would start eating.

But instead of that question, what he got instead was, “Then, you just didn’t want me.”

There was something… aching in that statement. If the words themselves hadn’t been enough to just about give Vader a heart attack all over again, the feeling was enough to at least cause that treacherous organ to stutter a few times as the words lingered in the air between them, crushing in the weight of their despair.

Unable to resist, Vader reached out as he said, “Son, _no_. I didn’t- Luke, I thought you were _dead_.”

That clearly surprised the boy. Not enough to prevent him from leaning back, away from Vader’s reach, which had the Sith immediately retreating as well. But it eased something in that pain that had hung between them with Luke’s previous assumption.

“You… thought _I_ was dead?”

Ready to immediately jump into an explanation, Vader made it to, “Yes, your mother-“

And then very quickly had to stop.

Was there? There was- There was no _good _way to tell him this.

“I was told that your mother had died because- died before giving birth. And that as such, you had died as well. I did not know-“

“Ben told you I was dead?”

There was deep hurt in those words, almost as much hurt as had been in the ones that had accused Vader of abandoning his son. And while Vader wanted to agree with them and lay all these deeds directly at Kenobi’s feet, he was forced to admit, “No. No, the Emperor told me about your mother. And about you.”

More unease, and Luke shifted slightly. Still not eating, and it was starting to worry Vader not just because he personally wanted this conversation to end, but because he wasn’t sure what the exhaustion and pain were doing to Luke as far as impacting how well he could handle a conversation like this.

Just as Vader was about to urge the boy to eat again, Luke asked, “How did he know?”

“He-“ Vader began. And then realized that in fact, the Emperor _hadn’t_ known. At least, he must not have, right? He would never have allowed Vader’s son to grow up far and away, in the hands of a Jedi.

Which meant he had lied.

Or, _or_, if he had known, it meant he _had_ allowed Vader’s son to grow up in the hands of a Jedi. And had never told Vader about the boy’s existence.

It was truly stunning, how much room there was still in his heart for rage.

He would have stewed in it, coiled in it, nurtured it from a furnace of anger and pain into a fiery inferno that would have consumed every other feeling in his heart and carried him through, day after day, until he finally, _finally_ had his revenge.

But at that first wave of anger Luke had violently flinched, dropping his food and almost falling backwards, and worry replaced rage, for the moment.

For all that Luke was not trained in the Force, whatever bond there was between them, whatever distance there was now, it was enough for him to sense those feelings. And be frightened.

“You… need to eat,” Vader said after a moment, not trying to reach for his son again, but instead picking up the food with the Force and placing it carefully back in his child’s lap. It was fortunate Luke had set his water ration aside. Vader wasn’t sure he could find another one of those in a hurry, and Luke needed that at least as much as food, if not more.

With worrying hesitance, Luke tentatively grabbed some of his provisions and began to nibble on them lightly.

* * *

Luke Skywalker was not prepared for this Darth Vader.

Months, had it only been mere months ago now, Luke had been a moisture farmer with a passionate desire to go to the Imperial Academy. And then, in only a few days, he was flying with rebels after rescuing a princess, and he had no home to go home to.

And the only familiar face in his life, the last one left from that old home, had been killed by Darth Vader.

Luke’s early acts of violence had been infrequent and practical, shooting womp rats and taking shots at approaching raiders, though always at a distance and they usually hauled off the targets. To this day Luke didn’t know if the ones he hit were alive or dead.

Then, in one minute he had destroyed at least thousands of lives, annihilated into space dust, replacing that monstrous Death Star.

Vader had nearly shot him out of the sky.

He wondered if his… father remembered that right now.

Maybe not. He had… overreacted hugely to Luke getting hit by the bounty hunter. His father would probably be in the middle of another one of his emotional tidal waves if he thought about it right now.

Especially since he had thought, at the time, that Luke was already dead.

Luke shoved food into his mouth to prevent himself from asking stupid questions.

He made it through three bites before he realized that Vader was doing literally nothing right then except _staring at him_, and suddenly he was in no mood to eat. Especially not while he was being watched by this- by his…father?

As he moved to put the rations aside, Vader said, “That was not enough food to replenish your strength.”

“I’m just getting a drink,” Luke lied, and then realized it wasn’t a lie because he was still afraid of Darth kriffing Vader and he didn’t want a drink or to eat any more food, but if this behemoth of a man was going to corner him at a proverbial dinner table, with more effectiveness than Aunt Beru had ever managed, then eat and drink he would. Even if he didn’t like it.

Vader shifted slightly, his head cocked to the side. “You have no reason to be afraid,” the menace said in a tone that was probably supposed to be comforting, but was still Darth kriffing Vader. “I will not harm you.”

A dream, Luke realized distantly. It was all a dream. He’d probably wake up in whatever dank and gloomy bunker the rebels had found this time and laugh with Wedge and Han and Leia, well maybe not Leia this time, about this dream where he’d been rescued from bounty hunters by Darth Vader.

Who was his father.

Luke’s mouth tasted like someone had scoured it with sand. And maybe his insides felt like they’d received the same treatment.

He stared at the water in his hands, trying to will himself to take a drink and not sure what was going to be required to make that happen.

Maybe he wasn’t dreaming at a base. Maybe he was still in his X-wing and dreaming about his death, only, as Han had once so cheerfully put it, maybe his brain was too hopey and heroic for the concept of death to stick.

Probably not. He’d shot the weequay.

Luke was promptly violently sick.

If this was a dream, it sucked. No one should have to taste emergency ration vomit in their dreams. Or ever.

When the post-vomit retching had finally stopped, Luke slowly became aware of a hand on his back and another around his arm, holding him steady as he trembled. His water, he realized dimly, was in the hand that was being supported by- by Vader. Apparently it had escaped his sudden sickness undamaged.

“Luke,” a distressed voice was almost hissing in his ear, and Luke glanced to the side, into the dark mask of Vader’s face. For a moment he thought he could see, with the sun just right, actual human eyes behind the bulbous red film that masqueraded as those windows to the soul. “What’s wrong?”

“I shot him,” Luke managed to say after a moment, the tacky, pasty taste of ration vomit almost making him gag again. “I actually shot him.”

He’d shot at people before, at raiders. He’d blown up the Death Star. He’d had Han give him tips on wielding a blaster and practiced them more than a few times. He’d seen Ben die, in a mystical poof. He’d watched stormtroopers go down, shot them. But this… this might have been the first time he’d done something quite like this.

He really didn’t know how to feel about it.

Apparently, neither did Vader.

There was no noise for several moments except the even, steady hiss of Vader’s breathing. Then his… father said, “Son, you have killed before.”

It was very hesitant. And accompanied by some of the pressure that Vader had exerted earlier on Luke’s mind. Only this time, instead of trying to convey information, it was a feeling of reassurance and… tenderness?

Not quite, but maybe something like it. A bit.

It didn’t really help. At least, Luke wasn’t sure he thought it did. He wasn’t sure he thought anything at all right now. There was a curious numbness moving through his brain, and maybe also his limbs? He wasn’t really sure right now if he could feel them or not.

He could still taste what was in his mouth though, which sucked. Couldn’t the numbness have gone after his taste buds?

“Luke?”

“I know,” he felt his mouth move, or at least thought he did. “I’ve killed a lot of people. A lot. I just… don’t usually watch them. Watch them die like that.”

“I… see.”

Luke wasn’t sure that his father did, but he didn’t argue about it. Just sat there, trembling slightly and watching his limbs shake without really being able to feel it.

There was a gentle pressure from the hand on his back as Vader said, “You need to eat. Your body does not have enough strength.”

A tingling chill danced over Luke’s skin and seeped into his muscles. He twitched slightly, but that supporting hand followed the movement easily and kept him steady. “I don’t think I can.”

“You must,” Vader said firmly. “Even if you do not wish to.”

“It tastes bad,” Luke said in a small voice, fingers twitching around the water he was still holding. There was a sense of sympathy coming from Vader, and Luke found himself leaning into it, appreciating the shared resentment of field food. The hand on his back was replaced by an arm around his shoulders, holding him semi-upright against Vader.

“I know. But you must. Have some water first.”

What happened in the next twenty minutes had the hazy, distant quality of a dream. It did involve eating, in slow careful bites, as Vader supported Luke and muttered what were probably fairly condescending words of encouragement. Luke might have been annoyed if he was really listening, but instead he just kept sinking into that feeling of contentment that hung around him, peaceful and protective, with the hint of the possibility of sharp edges should danger arrive.

It felt safe.

Luke had never felt this safe.

With a final swallow, he finished off the food and drained the last dregs of water, careful to get, as much as possible, every single drop.

He was pretty good at it. You didn’t waste water on Tatooine.

“Well done,” he heard Vader say, before the man carefully released Luke and stood up. There was the suggestion of wobbling as Vader tried to work around his damaged leg, but he got steady quickly and started making his way to his ship.

Which was about when Luke’s brain turned back on and he realized he was stuck planetside with Darth Vader, scourge of the Empire.

Oh shit.

“Wait,” Luke shouted, scrambling up. “What are you doing?”

He knew, and it was no surprise when Vader answered, “Calling my ship.”

“Okay, uh, can I call mine first?”

Not his best attempts at negotiating, but it at least got Vader to stop and look back. “No.”

“Oh, okay. Uh.”

Luke hesitated for just a second, scrambling to come up with a plan. Then he gave up and did what he did best.

Improvised.

And ran.

“Luke!”

Something was trying to grab him, hold him, but Luke reached for that feeling his, sweet stars his father, had shown him earlier and managed a burst of speed. He made it to the wreckage of his X-wing, ignoring his father’s shouting from behind him, and managed to get his distress signal going before Vader had limped over to the rebel ship, still yelling. Or something. Luke wasn’t really trying to pay attention. He was trying to breathe. And not lose his lunch. Again.

“-extremely unwise, almost completely foolish. You’re injured!”

“I am _not_,” Luke retorted, leaning against the X-wing and trying to control his heaving body with careful, measured breaths.

“Your ship was crashed,” Vader said, pointing at the offending vehicle. “You would have sustained some level of impact damage _and_ you were hit. On your head. _Twice_.”

“Hey,” Luke grumbled, “get it right. I was hit _once_. _I _hit the second time.”

“Boy…” Vader’s tone was threatening, but in a way that was so frighteningly parental Luke almost had to laugh. “The fact remains that you are not undamaged. And,” a black gloved finger pointed itself directly at Luke’s unrepentant face, “you struggled with your food earlier, which could mean more serious damage.”

It wasn’t like his father was wrong, but Luke just didn’t want to deal with this. He was vacillating repeatedly between denial that Vader even was his father and pure, simple acceptance. Something in Luke felt right at the thought. Another part of him rejected it. Viciously.

Using the remains of his ship to hold himself upright, Luke said, “I needed to contact my friends.”

Not directly because his comms were down, but the distress signal would eventually bring them here.

Probably.

“You _need_,” Vader said darkly, “medical attention. It will be seen to on my ship. And then we will discuss the details of our plan.”

“Plan?” Luke asked, blinking. “What plan?”

“To kill the Emperor,” Vader said simply, “and rule the galaxy.”

To what? “No.”

“What?”

“No,” Luke repeated, wobbling slightly. There seemed to be something like distress or anger coming off of Vader, but Luke just continued, “Why would I want to rule the galaxy? Worst. Job. Ever.”

He should probably have come up with a more eloquent argument than that. But the last thing Luke could imagine right now was doing politics. For _the rest of his life_. Which would probably be pretty short. Well, except Vader would probably protect him. Which meant a lot of other people’s lives would probably be pretty short.

Possibly his friends’.

Vader’s head cocked to the side. “You are only opposed to ruling the galaxy? Not to killing the Emperor?”

“No?” Luke wasn’t sure what he did or did not want right now, honestly. But killing the Emperor was probably something he would have to eventually get around to. Being a rebel and all. And the last, well lastish, Jedi.

His answer earned a nod. “Then we will return to my ship and you will receive medical attention and we will plot to destroy the Emperor.”

Which sounded a lot more sketchy when Vader said it out loud, funnily enough. But more importantly, “I’m not getting on your ship.”

“You have only a distress signal. You friends will not get here in any reasonable about of time.”

Leia would. The thought crossed Luke’s mind with an echo of undeniable truth. She’d be looking for him, be ready when his signal arrived. She and Han were probably already on their way. If he could just keep Vader talking…

“They’ll get here,” Luke said, shrugging. “And I’m going back with them, not you.”

A brief, tense silence. “You are my son.”

“Probably,” Luke agreed. No need to argue about that.

“You need to be trained,” Vader added, making an empty if aggressive gesture.

Luke nodded. “That’s definitely true.”

“I can train you.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be pretty good at it.” Luke had managed that Force trick just a moment ago to make it to the ship. Way easier than trying to parse Ben’s riddles.

“So you will come with me and get medical care and we will see to the future of… the new republic.”

It was slightly reassuring to see how suddenly flexible his father could be. But Luke stood his ground. “No. I’m going with Leia and Han. They need me, and I want to be with them.”

There was another tense silence. “They could be… obtained.”

“No,” Luke said, almost surprised at how sharp his own tone was. “You can’t do that to Leia. Not again.”

There was a sense of wavering around Vader before he said, in a careful, slow tone, “She would not be harmed in any way. This time.”

Which was good and horrible to think about. And Luke just shook his head. “No. I’m not doing that to her. Never.”

“Then you will have to leave your friends behind, son.”

Yeah, that was _not _going to happen. But Luke could tell that arguing was getting him nowhere. So he tried bargaining instead. “If they get here first, can I go with them?”

“I would… have to stop you,” Vader did not sound happy to have to say that out loud, but seemed pretty resolute.

“Because I’m not allowed to be with them, or because you would have to leave me?”

He’d surprised himself at the question, maybe almost as much as he had surprised Vader. It was a moment before his father answered, “I have no objections to you having the princess as a friend. She is… good. And loyal. I am… less certain about the smuggler.”

“He saved my life,” Luke pointed out, and immediately regretted it as Vader realized what that meant, and there was that overwhelming wave of emotion Luke had expected. Fear and anger and remorse and regret and-

It stopped abruptly, but Vader’s hands were trembling slightly, clenched into fists at his sides. “He… did do that. You are right.”

“He would do it again, no matter the danger,” Luke added, trying to convey with tone that he didn’t expect the danger to be his father.

Stars, he really didn’t expect Vader to hurt him anymore. Not on purpose. How could he possibly so easily feel like that?

“This may be true, but it does not change that I cannot let you go.”

Which was basically the answer to Luke’s question. So he figured he would try to go all in and see how this turned out.

“So come with me.”

Something about that phrase _rocked_ Vader, almost to his core. Luke had said it casually, not really thinking much of it other than this was a stupid plan. But it had apparently devastated something in his father.

Before Luke could apologize, or ask what was wrong, Vader had recovered again and said, “That will not be necessary. I will contact my ship and we will leave on it together.”

“You can contact it, but Han will get here first,” Luke said with all the confidence that he could muster. And it was actually a lot of confidence. Go figure. “How about, if your ship gets here first I go with you, and if my ship gets here first, you come with me.”

The wave came again at Luke’s last words, but less painful this time. Vader thought for a moment before saying, “If I win, you will come with me? No escape attempts, no running away, no fighting? You will stay by my side willingly?”

“I’ll stay with you willingly either way,” Luke said. And was surprised at how much he meant it. Not without reservations. There was still some part of his brain that remembered what had happened to Ben. To the weequay. His father was dangerous. But, “You just have to promise to come on my ship if it gets here first.”

“Fine.”

Vader stormed off to contact his ship and came back with the happy report that it was not very far out and would be sending a shuttle very soon.

Luke just smiled. “Oh good. Then we’ll just miss them.”

Vader followed Luke’s gaze up to the sky and swore as the _Millennium Falcon_ soared into view.

Now all Luke had to do was convince _Leia_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Theoretically, this is only supposed to be one chapter long. But now I have... ideas. We'll see if they actually come to fruition.


End file.
